The Anatomy of Loss

How do you grieve, my dear?

I tried to freeze the nerves,

to shutter every window

until the ache ran dry.

How do you grieve, my dear?

I turned the blade inward,

then outward -

wounding the very hands

that reached out to hold mine.

How do you grieve, my dear?

I let the memory of warmth go cold.

I unlearned the language of light

until I forgot that love

was ever a place I lived.

How do you grieve, my dear?

I am a riot of ghosts;

I dance, I howl, I laugh

until the sound turns into a scream

and the scream turns into a prayer.

How do you grieve, my dear?

I poisoned the garden to kill the weeds.

I tried to logic pain

only to find that grief

is the only thing left alive.

Rain, here and there

 
The city rain blurs my window,
as I sit caged at work -

Back home, the rain fell different:
still wet, still damp, but alive -
the downpour's song, my mother's voice,
steam curling from our tea -
a warmth that sustains memory.

Same rain, same ache,
but only one place taught the sky
how to feel like home.

Showpiece

the yellow china sets
in my mother's shelf
locked behind glass
not used. not dusted.
just there - to say:
we have this.

I too - the lone foreign face
in a strange town
paraded, trophied,
a token of kindness,
just a showpiece.

years press cracks
into porcelain skin
dust settles, smiles fade
still here, displayed,
never touched, never belonged.

#poem #minority

Rest Is Resistance

They auction your exhaustion,
call it hustle -
but your pulse is a protest song
they cannot copyright.

Let your spine unspool like a ribbon.
Let your thoughts dissolve like sugar
in the tea you sip, unhurried,
while the world screams more.

"Rest is the new productivity" -
lie of the century.
Rest is the end of productivity.
That’s the point.

The most radical thing you’ll ever do?
Nap with the fury of a stopped clock.

#poem